Ambrosius was in no shape to walk. The window glass had been sharp, and a jagged edge sticking from the frame had gouged his leg when he’d jumped to freedom. The hospital’s drugs had numbed it out too much for Ambrosius to realize it though - it had been Nimona who’d noticed the blood dripping down his calf after coming to a landing in an alley several blocks from the hospital.

“Ohhhhh shit.” Nimona mumbled as Ambrosius clumsily tore his shirt into shreds and tried to staunch the bleeding. “That’s going to need stitches.”

Ambrosius shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. Just get us out of here.” He tied a piece of his shirt tightly under his knee. The wound below just kept bleeding. Ambrosius focused on the wound with his mind. If this was a dream, he should be able to stop the bleeding himself. Right?

He focused until he felt Nimona tap his shoulder.

“Hey?” She tried to get his attention, “We need to keep moving.”

The wound kept bleeding. Ambrosius began to wonder if this wasn’t a dream at all.

Nimona shifted into what Ambrosius could only assume was her, but ten years older, taller, and stronger. She hefted him onto her back and carried him through a maze of alleys and maintenance tunnels until they’d gotten out of the city and arrived at what looked like an old repair garage. It wasn’t much - just a single stone room with old workshop equipment in it. It did have a kitchen and a musty old couch Ambrosius could rest on though, and right now that was what was important.

“This place is safe.” Nimona said, dropping him onto the couch, “I’ve hidden out here a few times and no one ever noticed. We can hide out here as long as we need.” She glanced at the blood-soaked fabric wrapped around his leg. “I’ll go get supplies. Wait here. Try not to move too much.” And with that, she was gone.

Ambrosius sprawled on the couch, a million thoughts still swirling in his mind. Was this a dream? It didn’t feel like it. His head was finally starting to clear for the first time in a week, and he still didn't know what was real.

He held his right hand in front of his face. He tried pushing his left finger through his palm - a method he’d heard of before to tell if you were dreaming. His finger remained firmly outside his hand.

He looked up. There was writing on a tarp stretched across the ceiling above him - not garbled text like dreams had, but full words spelling out the name of the manufacturing company.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself rising off the couch - something he’d done in dreams before. Nothing happened.

It was real; Nimona, the hospital escape, The Director’s guilt in framing Ballister… it was all real.

Ambrosius felt himself go limp, realizing the implications of the revelation. He was a fugitive. There was no other way to put it. He had no way of knowing who was in on The Director’s coverup and who was simply mistaken, and he didn’t have any friends he could trust. There was no one to turn to, nowhere to go. Anyone in their right mind would turn him in - not only had he attacked the head of state, but worse, he’d sided with Nimona, whom The Director had declared a monster.

A monster… Ambrosius couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection before. Leave out the bloodthirsty part and she fit the bill perfectly; an inhuman creature wanting to destroy society. Maybe the bloodthirsty part would come later. And now he was friends with it. Him. Gloreth’s child. Even if he could prove The Director had killed the queen, his reputation as a light for the kingdom had been tarnished.

Disappointed. He was so disappointed in himself. Things hadn't needed to go like this. He could have put Ballister’s sword back in the drawer and presented his evidence to someone else once he’d calmed down. He could have kept his wild tales to himself in therapy. He could have saved Ballister…

Ambrosius spent the next two hours agonizing over what-ifs and how he could have possibly done thing better. Finally, he pushed himself off the couch and limped to the kitchen for something to eat. If Nimona had stayed here before, there might be something left...

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a shuttered window en route. He looked horrible. His hair was gone, the medication he’d been forced to take had made him lose weight and muscle, and there were dark patches under his eyes from stress. He was reminded of the prisoner from the movie Nimona had shown him; gaunt and dead inside.

There was a sound of someone kicking the front door. Ambrosius tensed.

“It’s me.” Nimona’s voice came. “My hands are full.”

Ambrosius limped to the door and opened it. Sure enough, Nimona was laden with supplies; bags hanging from her arms and slung over her back. Her hands held two cardboard cups.

“I forgot to ask for a tray.” She laughed as she entered, pushing one of the cups into Ambrosius’s hands. “I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got the stuff from before - Earl Grey, cream & sugar, or something like that. Right?”

It was supposed to be milk, not cream, but that didn’t matter. Ambrosius took a long drink.

“Exactly.” He said quietly, a slight smile spreading across his face.

Nimona unloaded supplies into the kitchen cabinets.

“So. I heard you attacked The Director. That’s pretty metal if you ask me.”

Ambrosius sat back down on the couch.

“She killed the queen.”

“Woah, WHAT?!”

Ambrosius told her about the sword and the paper with the email and password.

Nimona grinned.

“Look at you go, mister detective.” She closed a cabinet. “So we just need to get our evidence together so we can post it online, right?”

“There is no evidence.”

“Come again?”

“The invoice disappeared when they sent me to the psych ward. Probably trashed. The paper with the email is probably gone. And I never gave my email address to Meredith so she could forward me her copy of the emails. I’m not even sure if she’s alive anymore…”

Nimona put the last of the supplies away.

“So… what do we do now?”

“I don’t know… we should probably wait for things to die down at least. This little monster hideout looks like it could hold for a while.”

Nimona suddenly looked sullen. Ambrosius didn’t notice. He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. The kingdom would probably be best off if he did nothing. The Director was a good authority figure, murderer or not. There was no public unrest, and life for everyone was going smoothly. Exposing The Director could upset all that. He didn’t want to be a fugitive for the rest of his life though…

Something large landed on his lap with a muffled ‘whump’.

“I got you clothes.” Nimona said from across the room.

Ambrosius took a look at the duffel bag on his lap.

“Are these… from my dorm?”

“I hope so. Otherwise I raided someone else’s room.”

Ambrosius gave a slight smile and pulled a shirt from the bag. It was one of his.

“How’d you carry this all out of there?”

“You know that guy who told you to take the day off?”

“Ironwill?”

“Yeah. Apparently he can go wherever he wants without people asking questions.”

That made sense. Ambrosius pulled the shirt over his head.

“Those monster powers do come in handy.”

“Don’t use that word for me.” Nimona snapped. When Ambrosius looked, she was staring daggers at him.

“What? Mon—”

“DON’T.”

“But… what else are you?”

“I’m Nimona.”

“Yeah but…” Ambrosius backpedaled, still trying to rationalize his choices, “It’s ok - you’re a good monster, right?”

Nimona was suddenly in front of him, fists clenched.

“Think about that word you’re using. Really think.”

“It’s just a word.”

“No. It’s this entire place. It’s The Director and the wall and Gl—” her voice broke and she turned away. A moment later, she was a fox running outside through an open window.

“Nimona!” Ambrosius limped to the window as fast as he could. “Nimona I’m sorry! I won’t say it again!”

Only the whistle of the wind answered him.